A day in the life of Sydney Bristow
by Terin
Summary: A story which focuses on a 24 hour time period in Sydney's life...how did she get to this point? (God, I suck at writing summaries...just read it.)
1. Brutal Truth

"A day in the life of Sydney Bristow"  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing…do you really think I'd be writing this if I did?  
  
Summary: A very long day…(S/V). Sydney makes a deal with Sloan…how did she get to this point in her life? God, I suck at writing summaries…just read it.  
  
A/N: I realize this probably will make no sense at the beginning, but just read it through. I guess this is written in the style of 24 (a show I have never even seen!) This fic focuses mainly on a 24 hour time span in Sydney's life, with flashbacks and flash-forwards.  
  
Please review!  
  
Prologue: Brutal Truth  
  
July 28, 2002—9:42 P.M.  
  
I look up into Sloan's cold, hard eyes, hating him more now than I ever have before. I want to kill him, to beat him within an inch of his death and leave him a bathtub, bloody and broken. His iron-cold voice jars my thoughts, bringing me back to the brutal truth that I face.  
  
"Ahh, but don't think I'd make it that easy for you Sydney, because the truth is that would be making it quite simple. I'm sure you value your life just as much as the next person does, but the facts are clear: you hate me more than you love your life. So lets face it, when faced with a situation of choosing my death with a risk to your life, or safety for yourself, it's fairly obvious what you would do. No, Sydney, I would not want to make anything that simple for you…that's why I brought a little collateral with me…just something to turn the tables in my direction. Works pretty well don't you think?"  
  
That's when I saw him—bruised, beaten, bloody—the man I wake up for every day. His hands and feet were tied, and the gag around his mouth was so tight that I could see trails of blood on his chin from where it had cut into his lips. His hair was disheveled, one of his beautiful green eyes was surrounded by a black and blue ring of bruising, and I could see that his right arm was puffy and swollen—near the elbow a white splinter of bone pierced the skin, the cause of the dry water-falls of blood which marred his arm. He looked horrible, and I loved him more than ever. His green eyes locked on mine, and I could see pain and worry written all over them.  
  
I'm too shocked to think…or move, for that matter.  
  
"So lets recap here, 'Syd'. I have offered you two options, one of which—from your stand-point—is probably looking better and better. You will either help me bring down the organization which I have poured so much of my life into, namely SD-6, promising me my life and safety, or I will kill your boy here. Agent Vaughn, I believe his name was? But let me promise you, Sydney, I won't make it a 'quickie'. I'll make it long and drawn-out, and let me tell you…he will suffer."  
  
I see the piece of shining silver in the palm of his hand, which lashes out abruptly in a violent motion. "No!" I manage to release a horse scream, and as I do I can feel the blood which has been safely nestled in the back of my throat spew out, spraying the floor in front of me. Just as my own blood hits the gray pavement, I see the sharp scalpel held firmly in Sloan's grip connect with the left side of Michael's face, leaving a long red gash that stretches from his cheek-bone to his chin. His head bows down in shock, his face contorted with pain. He seams too tired to even cry out.  
  
Sloan's hallow, emotionless voice drones on. "Just to make you understand that I'm deadly serious. Your playing with the big boys now Sydney, and no one,—not the CIA, which you so valiantly spied for, or your pathetic handler who seems to be far too emotionally attached to you, or even your precious daddy, who as you can see is currently detained—no one is going to get you out of this bloody mess that you've created for yourself."  
  
I look from Vaughn—suffering silently in the corner—to my father, who lies motionless in a pool of blood some feet away, and back to Sloan. "How do I know that I can trust you?" My voice sounds weak and foreign in my own ears.  
  
He gives me an evil look before responding, "You mean how do you know that I won't back-stab you just as you did to me? Well, the fact is that you don't. However, if you value the life of Mr. Vaughn here—''  
  
He trails off, giving Michael a well placed kick in the gut before continuing on, "I'd suggest you find space in that sweet little heart of yours to trust me."  
  
I nod, having nothing left to do. In a simple bowing of my head, I have betrayed my country and my honor by collaborating with a man I swore I'd take down. In the last twenty-four hours I have been shot, lied to, tied to a concrete barrier, and been betrayed by those who I would have trusted with my life. I have shot my father, planned a conspiracy with my handler's sister, run away from my mother, and have given up everything for the man I love.  
  
Thus passes another day in the life of Sydney Bristow.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED…  
  
A/N: I realize that this doesn't make sense, but this fic will be like a puzzle, and it will slowly come together chapter by chapter (pay attention to the time at the beginning.)  
  
Love it? Hate it? Please review it! 


	2. Author's Note

A note to any reader who's still interested in any of my stories (The Prodigal, Before the Dawn, and A Day in the Life of Sydney Bristow.)  
  
I just wanted to say that I haven't given up on any of my stories. I know that I haven't updated lately, but due to the death of one of my best friends this week I've been extremely depressed and I haven't written a damn thing.  
  
I hope to get back to my stories by this weekend. If you're still interested in reading any of them, please let me know…it'll be encouraging.  
  
Also, on a more personal note, I just wanted to say that if any of you haven't talked to one or more of your friends lately, or have left any arguments unsettled, or even haven't really sad anything nice to them lately—you should call them. You honestly never know when you may loose them. I don't want to be very depressing right now, I just wanted to say that death can sneak up on you—it sure did to my friend, and now, I just keep wishing that I had the chance to say goodbye to him. Don't let this happen to you—tell your friends how much they mean to you.  
  
Anyway, on a lighter note—I will be writing this weekend because I know that's what my friend would have wanted, and I'll be getting chapters of my stories out by next week.  
  
Thanks,  
  
Terin( 


	3. Bittersweet Contradictions

"A day in the life of Sydney Bristow"  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing…do you really think I'd be writing this if I did?  
  
Summary: A very long day…(S/V). Sydney makes a deal with Sloane…how did she get to this point in her life? God, I suck at writing summaries…just read it.  
  
A/N: I wrote this before I wrote the prologue—about three weeks ago (before my life flipped upside down). I hope to be writing new chapters soon, though I haven't done anything yet (except moped around.). Please review!!  
  
I'd like to thank all my reviewers for the wonderful support that you've given me. It's been a hard few weeks, but hopefully I'll get back to writing soon.  
  
Dedication: For Carlos—poet, writer, musician, friend. I will always remember you.  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: Bittersweet Contradictions  
  
  
  
July 20, 2002  
  
"Have you ever hated your parents for anything?" The words are barely out of my mouth when I realize he doesn't have *parents*, he just has a mother…because of my mother.  
  
We sit in the warehouse as we always do. We'll never be able to step out of the shadows.  
  
"I mean, have you ever hated your mother for something she did?" I revise my sentence, bridging the momentary gap of silence.  
  
He looks over at me, his green eyes searching my face.  
  
"Yes." He hesitates, continuing when he sees me nod him on. "Yes. I have hated her for something she once did."  
  
I think that he's done talking, but before I know it, he continues on, his eyes on the cold hard floor, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "Right after my father died, when I was eight, well, my mother was three months pregnant when my father died—pregnant with my baby sister. In December, two-weeks after my ninth birthday, my mother gave birth to her. I remember being so excited…"  
  
A far away look comes into his dark green eyes, and I wonder what he sees in his mind's eye.  
  
Vaughn's Flashback  
  
// "Mrs.Vaughn, may I introduce you to your new beautiful daughter." These were the exact words of the pretty white-clad nurse who handed my mother the pink bundle which was my new baby sister. My mother took one look at the black hair, the deep green eyes, and the pale, pearly-white skin, and she looked away, handing me the baby. I looked at my little sister Isabella in awe, wondering how my mother could so callously reject such a beautiful creation. Exactly one week later, my mother and I were on a plane back to America…my little sister was not.//  
  
"Vaughn?" He seems to be lost in a memory, and I wave my hand in front of his beautiful but glazed-over eyes. He blinks with a start, and continues speaking. "I didn't really understand at the time why my mother didn't like her. How could I understand that my little sister looked like a carbon-copy of my father, and that each glance at her was like acid into the fresh wound of my father's death?" He goes on, talking more to himself than he is to me; I've never seen him get so deeply lost in a memory.  
  
"We had gone back to Normandy, my mother and I, supposedly so that she could have my sister in France, in the same hospital that both she and I were born in. Needless to say, we left without my sister. She stayed with my grandmother at the country estate. I just couldn't understand how my mother could be so cruel to leave Belle in that big house all alone with that my grandmother—I still don't understand."  
  
He suddenly stops speaking, and, as if coming out of a trance, snaps his eyes to attention. "God, I'm sorry Vaughn." I don't really know what to say—what he said came as a bit of a shock to me, I always figured that even minus a dad, Vaughn's family was probably still a lot more functional than mine was…now I'm not so sure.  
  
"Are you and your sister close?" I find it doubtful, considering she grew up in France and he grew up in America, but even so, I ask the question.  
  
"Well, we are, that is—we were…she's dead." He says the words stiffly and with no emotion before turning away.  
  
I'm not sure what to do. I want to go up to him and put my arms around him…to provide just a fraction of the comfort he's given me before. I take a tentative step forward before quickly closing the distance between us and taking his hand in mine. He smiles down at me, but it's such a sad smile that I'm tempted to cry.  
  
Why does everything between us have to have such a sad, bittersweet feel to it? Our relationship is a contradiction: I love him, but I can't even go to dinner with him; We're good friends, but our relationship should be strictly work related. He's the only one I don't lie to, but my entire relationship with him is a lie.  
  
"Why do you ask?" Huh? I look up, and I'm suddenly reminded of my original question.  
  
"I just…well, you know how sometimes you feel better about your own problems when you hear someone else's? I know it's selfish, I just thought…" I let my words trail off. It was selfish, but if I had known what Vaughn's response would have been, I doubt I would have asked in the first place.  
  
"It's not selfish, it's human. What's on your mind?" He seems happy to divert the conversation away from himself, so I decide to tell him. He's the only person I can tell anyway.  
  
"I just…I mean… I was thinking about how much I hated the choices my parent's made. I mean, everything I thought I knew about my mom was a lie, and I hate my dad for leaving me like that…under that veil of lies for so long—but I can understand why he did. And sometimes I'm thankful. But God, sometimes I hate my mother for even having me…maybe it would have been better for everyone in the long run."  
  
This time it is he who grabs my hands and pulls me close. "Don't say that Syd. I know your dad doesn't regret that she had you…I know *I* don't regret that she had you. You're this amazing person, and you've done so much good for the CIA…and it's more than that. I know that you've made differences in the people you know: your friends, Will, Francie, and, well…I know I'm better off for knowing you."  
  
I lean my head into his chest…and for a few moments—milliseconds, even—I feel safe, with the man I love. I would give anything to freeze this moment forever. But time tics on, and the feeling of safety goes with it.  
  
"You're sweet." I mean it, and I look into his eyes as I say it, to make my point clear. "It's just, realizing that my mother could be alive—that even her death could be fraud—is enough to make me want to scream."  
  
He strokes my hair for a few minutes before stepping back, his comforting face being replaced by his 'business face'. "So, what's my counter- mission?" I beat him to the subject we've both been avoiding.  
  
"You'll go to Bangladesh with your new partner, what's her name? Christina or something?"  
  
"Christine. Christine Williams. She likes to be called Chris though." He nods, and the far-away look momentarily returns to his eyes.  
  
His face quickly returns to normal and he continues, "Yes. You will go to Istanbul and steal Alexander Cazenov's computer security, which you will obtain by following a man who goes by the name of Ricardo Mellicci, just as planned in the SD-6 agenda. However, the switch of codes will not take place at LAX, as is usually done, but in Istanbul."  
  
I look up at him in surprise, and he continues, "We think that anything done in LA may arise the suspicions of your partner, who is doubtlessly trusts you a good deal less than Dixon did."  
  
I nod, not knowing what else to do. I know that after I leave this old warehouse, I will carefully drive to my house—making sure that I don't have any tails—creep silently into my apartment, praying Francie won't wake up, sleep for about two hours, and then continue my everyday life—lying to my friends about countless things. The thing that bothers me the most is not the fact that I lie, but that I've become so comfortable with it…it's second nature. Tomorrow I'll lie to my friends, and it'll be just another day in the life of Sydney Bristow.  
  
  
  
A/N: Any reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thanks,  
  
--Terin 


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